Musings of my tea-driven, depressed mind.

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Trying to find truth

People say, if I can’t have hope for the future, my future, they can have that for me, for now. And that’s the only way I have any hope at all.

People say, depression lies. I say something awful, and they tell me it’s the depression, that’s what it does, like a mouldy grey filter on everything.

People say, ‘you’ll find youself’, or things about listening to my gut. I’ve been trying, but mostly all I hear is what other people have said, or what I imagine they would say. All of them. Completely contradictory and conflicting. Or I hear the depression. Or I hear Steve, the collection of ideas and thoughts that seep out from the back right hand side of my brain, a low-level but constant reminder to keep things even, not show distress, and remind me that I’m awful… like I’m being held hostage at gunpoint by a hidden intruder, but ordered to never reveal that to the person in front of me. Sometimes it screams, if I step outside the acceptable boundaries, reveal too much.

I’ve managed to somehow seek out a tiny online circle of people who will tell me good things (for which I am immensely grateful). Things I want to believe over all the bad stuff. And since my faith in myself is non-existent, I can defer to them and hold the ideas they give me as possible truths, alongside the ones being hissed or screamed at me from inside.

I don’t know where I’m really going with this, except that I don’t know how to have faith in myself when all that’s keeping me pushing onwards is a half-belief that everybody else is right and I am definitely wrong. I can’t reconcile it, I’m absolutely stuffed full of internal conflict, and I can’t tell my own opinion in here above the noise of all the others.